


Truth or Dare

by rosequartzstars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, M/M, Male Ginny Weasley, Male Hermione Granger, Male Pansy Parkinson, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Spin the Bottle, Summer Camp, Teen Crush, Truth or Dare, hermes granger - Freeform, male parvati patil, percy weasley is a counselor, they're all 14 and figuring out their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25204540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosequartzstars/pseuds/rosequartzstars
Summary: It’s the last night of sleepaway camp, and the boys of Cabin 4 are all playing truth or dare. But when Ron declines to kiss his friend Hermes as a dare, he finds he can’t get the thought out of his mind until he actually does it.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Truth or Dare

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Romione Fic Fest 2020 on Tumblr, for the prompt "kisses". :)
> 
> You can find the abridged, published version here: https://romioneficfest.tumblr.com/post/620726067361136640/truth-or-dare

"Alright, so whose turn is it then?"

It was the last night of sleepaway camp, and the boys of Cabin 4 were crowded around in a space they'd cleared up on the floor (mostly by shoving clothes aside— apparently, a step of packing was to just toss everything you'd brought onto the floor until you could be arsed to stuff it into your duffel bag). The lights were out, so as to not alert the counselors, and the only illumination came from a few scattered flashlights. And, in celebration of the culminating night of six weeks' summer experience, they'd decided to pull a leaf out of what they'd seen in those movies they all complained their sisters watched but secretly loved, and play truth or dare— because they were _14_ , _dammit_ , and they needed to feel it.

It had all started when a plump boy named Neville had offered up what remained of his sizable stock of snacks; another boy, Gene —a 13-year-old fiery redhead who'd been lumped in with the Cabin 4s because he'd been born just a day after the cutoff and he adamantly refused to be put with "the rest of those babies" (by which he meant his contemporaries, the Cabin 3s)—, had snuck into the counselors' cabin and swiped a couple of beer bottles from the minifridge he knew they kept.

"I don't know about this, Gene," Neville had said tremulously at first, eyeing the bottles with the anxiety of someone who feels he's doing something bad.

"Oh, don't sweat it," Gene had said, popping open one of the caps with the bedframe. "First of all, my big brother Percy's a counselor, so if we get caught, I'll make it so only _I_ get in trouble. And, second, they're not _supposed_ to keep the minifridge in their cabin. If they report us for stealing beer, we'll just report them for a contraband minifridge."

"I'll drink to that," a sandy-haired boy named Seamus piped up, taking a swig from the bottle— and immediately making a revolted face. His reaction was common: all the campers that tried the beer seemed to think it was disgusting, with some of the more dramatic ones (namely, a white-blond boy named Draco, who had a flair for the theatrics) rushing to the bathroom to try to rinse out their tongues, while the ones who thought they were cooler tried to fake they'd liked it. But even Gene had to admit it tasted disgusting, and when their ringleader caved, so did the rest: they dumped the beer down the sink and proposed to break the bottles to hide the evidence.

"Wait!" a voice had risen, and Pencey had elbowed his way to the front of the crowd to stand face to face with Gene, a wild glint in his eyes. "Let's use one to play truth or dare."

And so they had come to be sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce on the dirty cabin floor, congregated in a circle and holding their breaths every time someone leaned forward and spun the bottle, releasing a sigh when they weren't the victim. So far, the unlucky ones had been Seamus, who had been made to lick the floor (but had done so with questionable zeal); Neville, who had sheepishly admitted to having been the one that'd woken up all the boys with a loud fart in the middle of the night back in Week 3; and a boy nicknamed Pat (short for Patil, he'd explained), who'd been forced to stand under the ice-cold shower for fifteen seconds on the clock. He was now wrapped in a towel and shivering next to the screen door, hoping some of the warm breeze that drifted in from the outside (which had so often made them all complain about how stuffy it was in their cabin) would dry him now.

The thrill of Pat's dare had carried them over for a while, but now, it was time for the next spin. In the suspended instant between the _now_ and the _later_ , Gene's brother Ron, older than him by a year, turned to his left and shot a furtive smile at his friend Hermes. Hermes looked up, met his gaze, and knowingly smiled back.

* * *

Everyone thought Ron and Hermes's friendship was odd. After all, Ron was happiest when he was playing goalie in the games of pick-up soccer that often followed a mid-day lunch, while Hermes preferred to sit up in a tree (he'd originally stayed off to the sidelines, but that had all ended when a stray ball had hit him smack in the face) and curl up with a book. Ron ate hoggishly during meals, stacking his plate like a tower and shoveling food rather than eating it, whereas Hermes seemed to not allow himself to forget what were evidently his spotless manners even for a summer camp, and ate primly with a fork and knife (even watermelon) while throwing grossed-out glances Ron's way. Ron was loud, boisterous, and jokey; Hermes was quiet, reserved, and preferred to bring his humor out in a sharp-witted sarcastic comment that most of the time went completely over the boys' heads.

However odd, though, it was a friendship that had started during the very first day. They were all sitting in an awkward sort of circle on the main lawn for what Percy the counselor had excitedly announced was to be a round of icebreakers. They were all to go around in a circle and say their names, as well as an interesting fact about whatever that name was.

When it got to the bushy-haired, buck-teethed boy with the sharp eyes, he let the silence sit for a moment before he cleared his throat and stammered out an introduction: "My name is, uh, Hermes. Hermes Granger." He met the blank-eyed stares dumbfounded before remembering he was supposed to dole out a fact too. "And, uh, my name comes from the messenger god in Greek mythology."

"Thank you! Any questions for Hermes?" Percy said, blissfully ignorant of how awkward his dynamic was becoming.

"I have one," a short, reedy boy with spiky jet-black hair had said, but the glint in his eyes seemed more of malice than of good-hearted curiosity.

"Go ahead, Pencey!" Percy squealed, delighted at the first question that had come up in almost a full round.

"So are your parents stupid, or why would they name you after some dude from geek morphology?"

_'Morphology,'_ Hermes thought, looking down to conceal his abashed blush, but more annoyed at Pencey's incorrect vocabulary than at his insult. _The idiot somehow manages to use an even more complicated word than 'mythology', and he has no clue what it means._

But Hermes's intellectual retorts were not in everyone's style, and certainly not for the lanky, long-nosed boy next to him: "Why don't you shut up, Parkinson," he piped up, rising slightly into a crouch. "When your own name sounds like they baptized you after some preppy rich-boy boarding school."

Snickering rattled the circle, and Pencey's face scrunched up into an expression of disgust. Hermes looked at the redhead boy with a grateful little smile. The redhead gave him a wink in return, and then turned to the circle to make his own introduction: "I'm Ron, and a fun fact about my name is that, since I have six brothers and we all look the same and I'm the least important out of all of them, my parents get confused and hardly ever call me by it."

"Now that's not true, Ron," Percy chastised him, trying to be the voice of reason over the laughter that again rocked the circle. "Mom loves us all the same."

"Yeah, well," Ron whispered to Hermes out of the corner of his mouth while the next boy over began his introduction, "he can say that because he's the favorite child. Eighteen, off to some Ivy League— but he's stuck in the same camp as a bunch of prepubescent dumbasses."

Hermes let out an uncharacteristic giggle, and Ron shot him a wink again. From that moment onward, they could both tell they were going to be very good friends.

* * *

"My turn," Pencey piped up, looking positively greedy as he leaned forward to spin the bottle. He made a whole show out of flicking his wrist, presumably to brag once again of how he'd _already_ been to a high school party his sister Priscilla, a junior, had let him stick around for. The bottle spun around once, twice, thrice— and finally slowed down to a drift before its neck pointed decisively, fatefully, at Ron.

"Bring it on, Parkinson," Ron snorted, leaning back with crossed arms and a defiant expression turning his freckled face up. "I pick dare."

"Oh, if you say so," Pencey feigned nonchalance, as if the idea were only just occurring to him. But when he spoke, he did it with such assertiveness that it was clear he knew where he was going from the beginning. "I dare you to kiss Hermes."

The circle fell into a stunned silence, and Ron and Hermes's heads whipped around to look at each other with wide, startled eyes. Hermes quickly broke away to look down again, as he was prone to doing whenever he was concealing a blush, and Ron looked back at Pencey, his mouth agape.

"Oh, come on, Weasley," sneered Parkinson, reveling in the chaos he seemed to have created. "We all know you're together all the time, and we've seen how you look at each other. Come on, it's just a kiss. Doesn't even have to be a kiss. Could be a peck."

"I'm— I'm not going to do that," stammered Ron, flushing a furious red as well. Beside him, Hermes sagged a little— was he kind of hoping he _would_? Forget it, it was stupid.

"Don't be such a pussy, Weasley."

"Knock it off," said Gene, rising to his big brother's defense. "First off, Parkinson, we don't use that word. We're not misogynists. And second of all, quit it. Ron said he doesn't want to do it, so quit it."

"Alright then, we'll do truth," Pencey said, looking disgruntled. "Okay, Weasley, so truth: do you _want_ to kiss Hermes?"

"Out of bounds!" roared Gene, standing up to smack Pencey across the head. In their places, Ron and Hermes had fallen very quiet, neither wanting to look at each other, each pretending they weren't blushing furiously. "Out of bounds, you big asshole, that doesn't count! Ron gets a pass this round, just because he has to deal with this fuckhead," he announced to the group, which nodded their agreement.

"Thank you," mouthed Ron to his brother, who gave a solemn nod and returned to his seat, not before piercing Pencey through with a murderous glance.

Next, a boy named Dean spun the bottle, which landed on Draco, who chose 'dare' with a sneer.

"Okay, then, go outside and stick your hair in the mud," Dean said with a smirk. Draco immediately protested, bringing his hands up to the hair he was so proud of to shield it, while the rest of the boys chanted wildly in support of Dean's dare, slapping the floor rhythmically in time. It all felt like it was going back to normal, and Ron even allowed himself to faintly join the chanting. But Hermes stayed tight-lipped, and retreated to his bed shortly after. Nobody questioned his departure.

Not even Ron, though it'd made his heart sink.

* * *

The cabin was quiet. The boys had given up on truth or dare about an hour earlier, alleging it was boring (though what none of them wanted to admit was that it was actually because they were exhausted), and had all gone to bed. As is characteristic of the early teens, they'd all gone out like logs the moment their heads had hit the pillow, and they were contentedly snoring, by now thoroughly adapted to the camp's uncomfortable bunks.

Only Ron remained awake. He hadn't been able to shut his eyes for longer than a second, and there wasn't a dredge of sleepiness in his body. He couldn't stop thinking about Pencey's dare, and every time he closed his eyes, the image of a disappointed-looking Hermes was tattooed onto his eyelids, sending a twinge of pain through his heart, though he didn't quite know why.

In fact, he didn't quite know _why_ it all had happened as it had. If it'd been any of the other boys, even a prig like Draco, he'd have valiantly stepped up to the task and sustained a short peck, and he knew the whole cabin would've gone wild because of it.

It's because it was Hermes.

Man, _Hermes_. Lovely little Hermes, who didn't know how lovely he was. Who squeaked rather than talked when he got excited about something. Whose brows knit together whenever he turned a page in his ever-present book, like it was taking all his concentration. Who told Ron off for poor table manners more than his own mother. Who was so full of facts. Who bickered with him all the time, using college-level words that sounded to Ron as if they were in another language. Who showed off his buckteeth when he laughed. Who was always grumbling about his bushy hair and how _the humidity in this place_ made it so frizzy. Who, in the space of these six weeks, had become so near and dear to Ron.

Was he lying awake in his bunk, too? Was he just as unable to sleep, did he have this same multitude of thoughts swirling in his mind? Was he crying? Ron hated seeing him cry. What if that was the last feeling, the last memory of Ron —him scooting away during that game— he took from this month and a half?

That did it: the very thought was inadmissible. Ron rolled over in bed, pulled out his flashlight, and flicked it three times at the top left corner of the second window's curtain, the signal he and Hermes had devised when they wanted to talk at night. Then, as they did on those times, Ron slipped out of bed and exited toward the back porch of the cabin, careful not to make any noise. If Hermes was awake, he'd have seen the signal. He'd know where to find him.

Sure enough, soon the screen door creaked open and out came Hermes, puffy-eyed and in his pajama pants and worn math camp tee. Wordlessly, he sat next to Ron, leaning back against the cabin wall. In the moonlight, Ron's pale skin seemed to glow, and Hermes noticed that his sky-blue button-down pajamas were a bit shorter on him now than they'd been at the beginning of camp. They sat in silence in the symphony of crickets, chirping placidly around them as the breeze rustled the trees' leaves.

It was Hermes who spoke first: "Nasty game, isn't it? No wonder Pencey likes it so much."

"Yeah," Ron gave a dry laugh, and they sunk into silence again. There was something on Hermes's mind: Ron could practically hear it whirring under his masses of hair, and wished his friend would just come out with it.

It took a while before he finally did, with a shaky voice: "Was the thought of kissing me so bad?"

"What? No! I mean, no— I don't know," sputtered Ron in quick succession, trying to string together a coherent enough sentence to comfort him.

"D'you think it's true, then? Do we spend too much time together?"

"Hermes, no," Ron said, and his hand ventured forward to close around his friend's. The gesture surprised them both: they jumped to look at each other in alarm for a second. Tension reigned briefly— and then, slowly, Hermes's fingers curled around Ron's. "No," Ron picked up again, a little flustered, a little breathless. "Hermes, I like spending time with you. I wouldn't wanna spend it with anyone else."

"Oh, good," Hermes said, and Ron thought he felt his grip tighten. "I like spending time with you too."

Silence fell back on them, but it was an easier one this time. Hands still clasped together, the two friends looked out at the nighttime campgrounds.

"I'm gonna miss it, aren't you?" Hermes piped up suddenly. "I'll admit my dad forced me to come here, but I've actually had a great time."

"Yeah," Ron said, but he was looking at his friend now, and he was thinking that what he would most miss was not exactly the campgrounds. As his eyes settled over every inch of Hermes's profile, who was lost in thought as he gazed over the lake, he suddenly realized that being with Hermes didn't feel at all like being with his other friends. His chest felt warmer. His cheeks did too. He felt calmer, more at home, without the need to impress him or make him laugh; he did those things because he wanted to, but not because he feared Hermes wouldn't stick around without them. He felt butterflies at the base of his stomach, and now, with Hermes's hand in his, he felt a tingle flow from his fingers, through his arm, all the way to his heart.

Surprising himself, he burst out: "It's not too late on that dare, y'know."

"What?" asked Hermes, turning toward him.

"I said..." Ron whispered, bringing his face closer to Hermes, so close he could tell apart every speck in his chocolate eyes. "I said it's not too late... for that dare..."

He'd never been great with words, and they eluded him. So instead, Ron did what he did best, and acted. He left his sentence trailing and just lunged forward softly to catch Hermes's lips with his, squeezing his eyes shut. Hermes's eyes flew wide open in shock, too startled to do anything about his friends' lips on his own.

Feeling him not kiss back, Ron pulled away disappointingly, seeming to wilt as he swayed back. "Oh. I'm sorry. I just thought—"

He was cut off again, but this time, because it was Hermes who had leaned into the kiss— a little too abruptly, by the feel of his teeth against Ron's. But Ron overcame his initial surprise and adapted, closing his eyes more softly this time and molding his mouth to fit around Hermes's, pressing the smaller boy's lower lip between his own. He raised the hand that wasn't holding Hermes's up to his cheek, placing it there to pull his friend in closer, and Hermes's hand left his own to wrap around his neck. At this change of position, they both broke away momentarily, staring at one another as if to confirm that it was okay.

Always able to understand each other without words, they broke into a laugh and dove back into each other's lips. The kisses were clumsy and inexperienced: neither boy had any experience with kissing, considering how new they were at this whole awakening thing, but they were hungry and passionate, and each one kissed as if they wanted more and more. Hermes's arms only wrapped tighter around Ron's neck, careful not to choke him, but desperately trying to hold him tighter, and Ron's fingertips stroked Hermes's cheek, venturing even to tangle in his bushy hair as the kisses got more intense.

After what seemed like a small eternity, they tore away again, gasping for air, Hermes practically in Ron's lap already. Ron, grinning uncontrollably, pressed forward again to kiss him, but Hermes turned his head away and Ron's lips landed instead on his cheek.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked delicately, reading the worry in Hermes's eyes.

Hermes let his eyes water for an instant before he stammered, in a shaky, breaking voice: "You'll write to me, won't you? I slipped my address into the side pocket of your duffel last week. I didn't want you to lose it, I hoped you'd find it on your own and know what to do, because I was so nervous to ask. But you'll write to me, won't you?" He took Ron's momentary silence as a denial of his request, and launched into an apologetic ramble: "You don't have to, I mean— I know it's just six weeks, and none of this likely matters to you, and I'll just be someone you'll forget, and we can pretend this never happened—"

"Hermes," Ron cut him off, pressing a clumsy peck to his lips. "Hermes," he repeated, brushing the bushy hair out of Hermes's pouting face. He felt his heart swell with honesty, and something close to love, and spoke with more candor than he ever had before: "Hermes, I'll write every day."


End file.
